


Batman's Protector

by Mintoki



Series: Batman's Protector [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: (all of this is of a child so be careful of that), Alternate Universe - Jason Todd is Alive, Alternate Universe - Jason Todd never died, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Neglect, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Robin, Kidnapping, Stalker Tim Drake, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is a civilian, Tim Drake-centric, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 20:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17649116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintoki/pseuds/Mintoki
Summary: "As the son of a rich family in Gotham, it was almost assumed that he would face a situation like this eventually. However, in all those scenarios he was being used as leverage. Someone would know he was gone. That was kind of the whole point.Now though… now he’s just a kid with information."ORIn which a thirteen year old Tim is kidnapped in an attempt to make him reveal Batman's identity.





	Batman's Protector

**Author's Note:**

> Wow I am really on a roll for writing these days! I wonder how long it'll last lol
> 
> First things first, read the tags. This fic features descriptions of violence towards a child character, like most of this fic is Tim Drake whump so if that makes you uncomfortable I would suggest you not read this. 
> 
> This is an idea I've had in my head for as long as I've been into Batman (which admittedly isn't super long but that's not important lol) and I finally got the motivation to write it. Jason survived his encounter with the Joker, but Tim still makes his way into the Batfam, though under pretty different circumstances. It ended up being a little longer than I expected but I still think it came out pretty well! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and please leave a comment to let me know what you think! :)

Tim loves Batman and Robin. Ever since he was a child, watching the dynamic duo take down the likes of Poison Ivy and the Joker on TV, he developed a borderline obsession with them. To a young boy, sitting alone in a big mansion at night, watching the team made him feel like a part of something. Like he might actually matter in the grand scheme of things. Only one other person had ever made him feel like that before.

And what a coincidence it turned out to be when the Dick Grayson who hugged him without hesitation and dedicated a performance to him was was the same person as Robin who went out a fought crime every night.

After he came to the realization Dick was Robin and that Bruce Wayne-- _Bruce Wayne!--_ was Batman, watching news reports didn’t satisfy Tim anymore. He knew more about the vigilantes than 99% of the Gotham population. He couldn’t just watch the spliced together footage, showcasing only the height of their battles. Tim knew about their _humanity_ ; he wanted to see that part of Bruce and Dick while they were in costume. He wanted to see them helping out the common citizen, wanted to see them send muggers running, and most importantly he wanted to see them get up after they were knocked down.

And so that’s how nine year old Tim Drake began following Batman and Robin through downtown Gotham. The first time he went he swore to himself, it would be a one time thing. He followed at such a far distance that he could barely even see anything, but the rush it gave him was undeniable.

Tim’s expeditions became more and more frequent until he fell into a routine. Every Friday and Saturday he would always sneak out to follow the vigilantes. Every other night he would sit in front of the TV and if there was word of a major Arkham breakout, he would grab his coat and hurry over to the villain’s last sighted location on his bike. This may have resulted in a couple embarrassing instances where Tim fell asleep in the middle of class the next day, but it was always worth it.

On his tenth birthday, Tim asked for a camera. His parents didn’t hesitate in buying him the best and most expensive model available, complete with multiple lenses and a bag to carry it all in. Tim suspected it was a pseudo-apology for missing his birthday again. His disappointment at his parents’ absence was quickly replaced by his excitement to finally capture his heroes on film.

The pictures would be all his. No one else would lay their eyes on the moments he had witnessed. 

This continued on for years. Even when Dick hung up the Robin costume, Tim still followed Batman. He learned to love the new Robin, Jason Todd, just as much as he adored Dick. They were very different from personality to fighting style, but they both gave everything they had.

The vigilantes might not know that he exists, but Tim knows about them and for him, even that much is enough.

 

* * *

 

Tim debates whether he should head home or not. Despite the fact he’s wearing a jacket, the thirteen year old can feel the rain seeping into his clothes. At this rate, his sweater would be soaked through in no time and with the wind whipping at his face, he really didn’t want to catch a cold.

More importantly though, he doesn’t want to ruin his camera. Right now it’s safely tucked away in its waterproof carrier, but he really doesn’t want to test how much it could withstand. While there was no doubt his parents could buy him a new one, he doesn’t want to go through the trouble. Besides, the time it would take to request and procure the camera would be far longer than favorable.

It’s only Friday night and he doubts that witnessing any action Batman and Robin may find tonight would be worth being out of commission for the next week or so. He could, weather permitting, come out tomorrow night and take more pictures. Nodding to himself he crawls out of his hiding place, a particularly tight squeeze between two brick buildings.

He emerges into one of the many alleys that exist in downtown Gotham. Batman and Robin had stopped a mugging there a few minutes prior and so Tim is relatively confident that criminals won’t begin to congregate for another two hours at least. It’s plenty of time for him to collect his bike and start his journey back home.

Honestly, the mugging hadn’t been anything special. In fact Batman or Robin probably could have taken care of it by themselves; it didn’t require the two to work in tandem. However, recently it became apparent Robin wasn’t allowed to go off on his own anymore. This was of course preceded by a three month hiatus from the boy wonder. Now, the bat didn’t let his sidekick out of his sight for more than a minute at a time while on the field. Tim has to wonder what caused this change. 

As he ponders the dynamic between the vigilantes, Tim’s ears perk up when he hears heavy footfalls from farther back in the alley. His whole body tenses, but he forces himself to keep the same pace. Panicking now won’t help him any. Batman and Robin are probably too far away now to notice any sounds of distress he might make and he’d rather not anger his potential assailant.

Maybe there’s nothing to be worried about though. Maybe it’s just another kid--he ignores how his brain tells him that the footfalls are too heavy to belong to anyone other than an adult male--scavenging around or seeking shelter.

Tim’s plans to remain calm fly out the window as soon as he notices the footsteps start running. Without chancing a glance back, the teen runs as fast as he can. He just needs to make it to his bike and he can get away.

He isn’t sure how much of a lead he started with, but he can tell it’s decreasing quickly. Tim is active, taking multiple martial arts classes, but he’s never been a strong runner. Maybe he can fight the man off? Knock him out or down long enough to escape?

_Oh yeah, definitely. The kid who’s probably 100 lbs soaking wet taking on someone twice his size who probably has a weapon? That’ll go well._

Mid stride, a large hand grabs his shoulder and the momentum Tim has going does nothing to prevent him from being yanked back. Within seconds an arm is wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air supply and a large hand covers his mouth. No matter how much he squirms, the man behind him doesn’t budge an inch.

“You’re a lot smaller than I thought you’d be, twerp. If I knew you’d be this easy to catch, I would have let someone else do the dirty work for me.”

As soon as the words are out of the man’s mouth, Tim begins his analysis. So this isn’t some random mugging or kidnapping attempt; this crook targeted him specifically. But why? Is it because he’s the heir to the Drake fortune? Why would kidnappers of a high profile figure search for him in downtown Gotham? Had he been followed? Usually he was super careful in checking his surroundings, almost to the point of paranoia.

The pressure around Tim’s neck lets up for a second, allowing him to suck in air through his nose. All too soon though, his windpipe is being crushed again. It’s stronger this time. Instead of simply struggling to inhale, Tim physically cannot get any sort of breath in. Tears prick his eyes at the lack of oxygen and he begins to claw at the arm.

“Don’t worry, this won’t take long or be any more painful if you just give me what I want. Do you think you could do that for me?” The tone is so condescending that had it been used in any other circumstance, Tim would have refused just to spite the man. He’s not in a position to be able to afford that kind of luxury now though, and so as painful as it is, he attempts a nod. 

The man drops Tim to the ground like a sack of flour. Almost immediately, Tim’s hand shoots out to grasp his throat as he gulps in air. After a few seconds of getting his breathing back under control, Tim chances a glance up. The site that greets him causes his blood to run cold.

Towering over him is Luca Bianchi, a new mob boss on the scene in Gotham. The man’s boxy build, and slicked back brown hair give him away. Tim has seen Batman and Robin mess with his men a few times, but Bianchi always got away. It did beg the question what the man wanted with little Timothy Drake though.

“I heard that you might have some valuable information on the bat.”

Oh.

 _Oh._  

“Some folks around here have said that you like to sneak around and stalk him.” Despite the physical pain he’s in, Tim winces at the wording. He’s never considered himself a stalker, but that really is what it looks like to the outside world. “I’ll admit, you’re good. It took me a couple nights to finally track you down, but now that I have you I’m gonna find out what I want to know.” 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tim’s position on the ground is not only uncomfortable due to its hardness, but also the fact it’s causing his entire body to get soaked. He attempts to push himself up, using his arms to brace himself.

With no warning, Bianchi’s boot stomps down onto Tim’s fingers. There’s a sharp pain and Tim can’t help but let out a cry as he falls back to the ground and cradles his hand to his chest. In all honesty, Tim is surprised he’s not sobbing. He’s never had a high pain tolerance.

“Do you really want to play it like this, kid? You have to know something. Batman’s secret identity, the location of his base of operations, hell, if you could let me know his patrol patterns I’d be satisfied. Just tell me what you know and I’ll let you run home with only a few broken fingers.”

“I-I don’t know anything!” He squeaks out. “And even if I did I wouldn’t give it to the likes of you!” Bianchi seems surprised at the teen’s blatant defiance. Tim knows he sure is, and he’s the one who said it. Bianchi sighs as he pulls a syringe from inside his jacket, almost reluctant at the action.

“I really didn’t want to have to do this, but if you’re really so insistent on wasting both of our times we can at least do it somewhere dry.” Tim’s eyes widen in realization of what’s to come. Ignoring the pain, which has changed to an intense searing rather than sharpness, he tries to push himself up and flee the scene.

Just as he’s upright though, Bianchi snatches a fistful of his jacket and pulls him close. Before Tim can even comprehend the movement, there’s the sting of a needle in the side of his neck. A tingling sensation takes over his body as his brain supplies he’s probably been injected with a fast acting sedative.

As if proving his own theory, the edges of his vision darken and Tim promptly passes out.

 

* * *

 

When Tim comes to, the first thing that he notices is the smell. His nostrils are overcome with the smell of mildew and metal, an odd combination to say the least. He crinkles his nose in disgust and he wishes there was a way to turn it off, at least for a little while.

The second thing he notices his body is a lot heavier that normal. He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but there is a pressure around his ankles and calves. There’s also something metallic and heavy encircling both of his wrists. As he slowly opens his eyes he realizes that everything is chained together.

The realization causes a jolt of fear to his system. The mental stimulation does nothing more to clear the lingering fuzziness from his brain though. It’s as if there’s a fog floating through his veins and while it’s dissipating, it certainly isn’t doing it fast enough for Tim’s liking.

After about fifteen minutes of laying on his side, trying to control his breathing, Tim can think clearly enough to properly take stock of his situation. 

_Let’s see, what’s the last thing you remember? You were out trailing Batman and Robin but it started to rain. You were heading home when-_

The memories of what happened next hit Tim like a ton of bricks. He had been kidnapped by a mob boss. Even worse, no one knew that he had been taken. As the son of a rich family in Gotham, it was almost assumed that he would face a situation like this eventually. However, in all those scenarios he was being used as leverage. Someone would know he was gone. That was kind of the whole point.

Now though… now he’s just a kid with information. Bianchi doesn’t care about leaving him in one piece. It doesn’t matter that should his status as a missing person be discovered, Gotham PD would restlessly hunt for him. Hell, he doesn’t even know if Bianchi’s aware that he is a Drake and even if he does he clearly doesn’t care.

He’s already been here for some period of time, he assesses. His clothes, which had been soaked last night, are almost completely dry. The only thing missing from his person are his jacket and camera bag. He can’t see them anywhere close by either. Additionally, his stomach is starting to protest at its own emptiness. He gives a conservative estimate of being out for twelve hours, though it would probably be more accurate to say it’s somewhere closer to sixteen.

Tim wonders what will happen next. Bianchi isn’t going to go easy on him because of his age; his throbbing fingers are a testament to that. He wonders just how far the man will go to get what he wants. There isn’t a whole lot of information circulating about the criminal since he’s still relatively new to Gotham.

There is one thing Tim knows though. He won’t give Bianchi what he wants. Batman and Robin are important not only to him, but all of Gotham as well. He would willingly give himself up if it meant they could fight another day.

Tim just really hopes it doesn’t come down to that.

 

* * *

 

“Ah so you’re finally awake. I was scared that I might’ve OD’d you for a while there.” Bianchi approaches Tim and crouches near him to get closer to eye level. “You ended up being a lot smaller than I anticipated so I might have given you a bit more juice than you could handle.”

In the hour since he had woken up, Tim had been able to maneuver himself so he could sit up against one of the many crates that seemed to be littered around the warehouse. Tim’s initial thoughts at the location had been that it was a little cliche, but the humor of the observation soon vanished when he realized how isolated it made him.

Tim’s chains clang as he attempts to scoot away from his captor. He knows it’s a fruitless endeavor, but he can’t help his survival instincts. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near this man.

“You seem to have enough energy, so maybe you’ll be able to answer some questions now.” Bianchi seizes the chains around Tim’s wrists and pulls it towards him as he stands. The strain the motion puts on Tim’s shoulders is painful, but to his credit he doesn’t let out a sound. “What’s your name?”

It’s not one of the questions Tim is expecting and so he hesitates. Without warning, Bianchi lets go of the chain, making Tim fall to the ground. This time, he can’t help but yell as his entire body weight falls on his already broken fingers, effectively crushing them again.

“Answer the question!”

Tim knows what he’s doing; it’s a common interrogation technique. Ask easy, base questions so that as the importance of the information increases they subject will be more loose lipped. Tim knows that’s the point of this question and that he shouldn’t answer, despite it not compromising Batman. He _knows_ that. But the prospect of reexperiencing the pain he just felt is daunting.

“Timothy. My name is Timothy.” Tim rolls himself over to look at Bianchi. He wants to see whatever new blows might be coming. He won’t be able to stop them, but it helps him feel a little less vulnerable.

“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it? Well Timothy, how about you tell me how old you are.”

“I’m thirteen.” With the scowl Bianchi is wearing, Tim is worried that he’ll think he’s lying. Most people peg him for ten, maybe eleven at most. Thankfully, the mob boss seems convinced he’s telling the truth. He lets out a low whistle that showcases as much.

“Damn, I never would have guessed.” His face morphs into a grin that’s almost predatory in nature. “But that’s really what you’re here for, so I don’t have to guess about stuff you already know.”

The real hard part is coming. Tim can’t just answer when the pain gets to be too much for him to handle now. Batman and Robin’s fates rest in his hands. Well, actually, no that’s probably too egotistical of him. Even if Tim were to reveal their identities, Batman would somehow find a way to fix everything. Batman always wins no matter the hand he’s dealt.

Bianchi pulls out Tim’s camera and a roll of film from inside his jacket. The lense is smashed and Tim can tell that some vital pieces have fallen off. It’s certainly hadn’t been treated with care while away from its owner. As if to prove that, Bianchi drops it on the floor, breaking the lense completely off the body of the camera. The film roll, however, is still intact. For the first time, Tim is thankful that he makes sure to always keep his Bruce and Batman rolls separate from each other. Had Bianchi seen pictures of both men on the same film roll, he has no doubt the mobster would be able to figure out Batman’s identity.

“How long have you been photographing Batman?”

Tim clenches his jaw. Anything relating to Batman is strictly off limits, he’s decided. Even if the question won’t reveal classified information, it’s probably best to show Bianchi his resolve. Tim stays silent for a few seconds before the man realizes he has no intention of answering.

This time Tim sees the blow before it lands.

Bianchi stomps his foot in the middle of the teen’s face. As if the intense pain and audible snap from his nose isn’t enough of a punishment, Bianchi’s heavy boot grinds around Tim’s face for a few seconds. He can feel the bones moving along with it and there’s no way for him to suppress the scream that rips through his throat. Even after the weight is removed, the pain remains. He can’t help but sob, tears and blood mingling near his chin. He can’t even attempt to wipe any of it away or hold his nose since he’s still effectively restrained.

That doesn’t stop him though as his body writhes around, looking for some way to express or escape the pain. He probably looks ridiculous, but that’s the least of his worries right now.

“Don’t test me, kid. All I need is a time frame. Give it.” Once again, Tim doesn’t answer. Instead, he levels a glare at the man looming above him. In a brief moment of courage, Tim spits on the boot of the man who has just caused the most pain he’s ever felt in his life.

Tim’s always been a smart kid, but that’s probably the dumbest thing he could have done.

“You little shit.” Surprisingly there isn’t a ton of anger behind the words. If anything, Bianchi is simply shocked. A small part of Tim hopes that means he won’t be punished for his insubordination. That doesn’t last long though as the man buries his hand in Tim’s hair and wrenches his head up. His other hand grabs Tim’s jaw and forces his mouth open. He shoves a cloth in and before the teen can even attempt to spit it out, Bianchi is tearing off a piece of duct tape and slapping it over his closed lips.

“If you really don’t want to answer that badly, I’ll make it impossible for you to. No matter how much you hurt you won’t be able to get me to stop until I say so.” Bianchi flashes a small smirk. “Trust me, you’ll wish you had just listened to me the first time.”

When Bianchi’s first punch lands on his nose, Tim whimpers. The noise is muffled by his gag and does nothing to stop the mobster. In fact, he seems even more empowered by the sound. He wants Tim to break, to become vulnerable enough to spill the information he desperately craves.

Bianchi mainly focuses the blows on his face, beating him until Tim can barely even feel the pain anymore. It’s all become a bit numb to him and he really hopes that doesn’t mean his body is shutting down. He can’t keep track of time, but the assault has to have been going on for at least half an hour. Right when he feels on the verge of passing out, the hits stop. Instead, the tape is ripped off his mouth and the cloth jerked out.

“You ready to talk yet?” Tim says nothing. “Heh, you’re more resilient than I thought kid. Don’t worry, we’ll work it out of you before the week is out though.”

The thought of putting up with this for a whole week makes Tim’s stomach churn and forces a sob from his lips. He could barely handle thirty minutes; how was he supposed to keep this up for days on end?

As Tim thinks, Bianchi readies another needle and sticks it in the crook of his elbow. Tim would flinch, but he hardly has the energy for even that. Before he knows it, he’s slipping into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

The times Tim is awake begin to blur together. They almost all follow the same general script: Bianchi asks him a question--the questions vary, but they all deal with Batman--Tim refuses to answer, Bianchi beats the shit out of him, and at the end he injects him with something. Tim suspects Bianchi is trying to make him disoriented enough in hopes that something will slip out.

That won’t happen on Tim’s watch.

To keep himself grounded, he focuses on each blow inflicted on him. Every time Bianchi breaks his fingers, every time he’s kicked in the gut, every time blood drips from cuts on his face, Tim embraces the feeling. If he focuses on the pain, there’s less chance his brain will consider giving in, consider giving Batman and Robin up. If he simply thinks of the pain, and not the reason behind it, he’s keeping his heroes safe.

This session, the sixth in what Tim estimates to be about three days, follows this routine up until the very end. Once he finishes wiping his blood from his knuckles, Bianchi doesn’t inject him with anything. Almost as if to answer Tim’s unasked question, the man starts talking.

“I think it might be beneficial for you to think this over a bit more. Are Batman and Robin really worth all of this? They would never do this much for a pathetic little kid like you.” With that, Bianchi takes his leave, presumably to take care of other business.

He’s right. Batman and Robin probably wouldn’t do this for him. He wouldn’t be worth this much brutalization. But they’ve already done so much, _sacrificed_ so much for Gotham as a whole that he knows he can’t give up on them.

If Batman can be Gotham’s silent protector, never expecting praise or recognition, Tim can be Batman’s.

 

* * *

 

The next two sessions are particularly horrible. Bianchi breaks every single finger one by one, and once that’s done goes back for a round two. He takes a hammer to his right ankle, probably shattering it. The pain is too much now. No matter what he does, Tim can’t focus on anything besides how much he wants it to stop.

_Please I can’t do this. I can’t do this. It hurts so much. Please someone help me. I don’t want this. I don’t want to do this anymore. I just want to go home. Please please please save me._

Even as he attempts to verbalize his pleas in muffled screams, nobody comes.

 

* * *

 

Session ten is when salvation finally appears. Bianchi forgoes the gag, saying _“Tiny Timothy’s close to spilling. I can see it in his eyes.”_

The scary part is he’s right. Tim physically can’t handle this anymore. He’s ready to give away Batman’s patrol routes just so he can have some sort of reprieve from the pain. By some miracle though, the middle of the session is interrupted by Batman swooping down and kicking Bianchi in the chest. 

Tim’s screams must have attracted the vigilante’s attention. Tim smiles to himself at that. At least his pathetic wimperings had been good for something besides showing his own weakness.

He’s not quite paying attention to the fight when suddenly his body is wrenched upright. A yelp slips through his lips, as his ankle is jostled by the unexpected action. Suddenly, a cold blade presses against his throat. Across from Tim, Batman freezes completely.

“That’s right! Make one wrong move and I rip the kid’s Carotid artery wide open.” As if to prove his point, Bianchi presses the knife even further and breaks the skin. Tim wants to struggle as he feels the blood slide down his neck but he knows that it will only make things worse. Besides, he doesn’t really have the energy to fight anyways.

“I don’t doubt you will.” Batman replies with no inflection. And _man isn’t that reassuring._ “What will it take for you to put him down?”

“Your identity. Take off the cowl and I’ll drop the kid.” Almost as a side note he adds. “It might not have been how I expected it, but he’s still the key to figuring out who you are.”

“I beg to differ.” Batman says. Had Tim not studied the man for the past four years, he probably would have missed that underlying amusement present in his voice. 

“What’s that suppos-” A batarang cuts Bianchi off as it slices into his hand, making him drop his blade. The batarang isn’t Batman’s though. It came from the warehouse rafters and is followed by the thrower himself, Robin.

As soon as Bianchi drops the knife, Batman rushes the man. He grabs Bianchi and throws him headfirst into a crate. Tim doesn’t have much of a chance to watch the fight though. Before he can even think, Robin fills his vision.

“Hang on tight kid. I’m just gonna get these chains off you, okay?” Tim can’t tell whether he nods or not, but either way Robin gets to work picking the lock around his wrists. Once his hands are free, he moves onto his legs. 

Robin tugs on his ankle and Tim can’t help but yelp. He natural reaction is to pull his ankle away from the other boy and so that’s what he does. Or at least attempts to do. Robin instinctively tightens his grip. This time Tim lets out a short scream which devolves into wimpers.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry kid. I didn’t realize it was that bad. I’ll try and be careful, but I gotta get these off of you.” Tim takes a steadying breath and bites his lip to keep any sounds of discomfort to a minimum.

With much more care, Robin starts picking the lock keeping his legs bound together. He then props him up against the wall. By the time he’s finished, so is Batman. Bianchi lays knocked out and handcuffed in the middle of the warehouse floor. A few crates are broken, but besides there’s not much damage. Tim closes his eyes, trying to control his breathing.

“What’s his status, Robin?”

“It’s… it’s hard to tell, B.” The steadiness that had been present when Robin was talking to him moments ago is gone, replaced by uncertainty and fear. They probably think he’s passed out, Tim notes. “There’s definitely something wrong with his right ankle. He was in a lot of pain when I touched it. His fingers and his nose are obviously broken, and, well, you saw how heavy the bruising is on his whole body.”

“There might even be more that we can’t assess here.” Batman concludes.

“How could anyone do that to just a regular kid? Jesus, he can’t be any older than ten…”

“I’m thirteen.” Tim corrects, words barely audible. He doesn’t know what causes the need to let them know this information, but he feels it’s important somehow.

“Shit, he’s awake.” Robin rushes over to his side, kneeling to be eye-level. “What was that, kid?” 

“I said,” He takes a deep breath, “I’m thirteen.”

Robin raises his eyebrows at that, but doesn’t respond. Soon silence stretches over the three and Tim feels the need to fill it once again.

“I didn’t tell.”

“What do you mean by that?” This time Batman joins Robin in crouching to look at the battered boy.

“He wanted to know about you guys” Tim coughs, aggravating some of his injuries, “But I wouldn’t tell him anything.” Batman sits in thought for a moment before seeming to come to a realization.

“Bianchi said you were the key to figuring out our identities. You know our civilian IDs.”

The ferocity in Batman’s voice makes Tim flinch. He didn’t want to make Batman upset; that was never his intention. Some deep part of him fears what will happen next. Batman could easily leave him here to die. He’s a huge liability; Bianchi proves that. Cutting him loose now would, strategically speaking, be the best option.

_Batman never kills. He wouldn’t just let you die to save himself. You know this._

Yes he knows this, but it doesn’t stop the panic welling up in his chest.

“Please don’t be mad.” Tim chokes out as he begins to sob. He can’t seem to take in enough air, only serving to make him panic even more.

“B, I think he’s having a panic attack. Should I give him a sedative?”

“Yes, Robin.”

As the needle is inserted in his arm, Tim instinctively moves to bat it away. He’s too weak however, and soon the drug his filling his veins. It’s a lot less overwhelming than whatever Bianchi had used on him. A minute passes and he slowly slips into darkness.

For the first time in a while, Tim’s thankful for it.

 

* * *

 

Waking is peaceful. One of the first things that Tim registers as he comes to consciousness, is padding underneath his body and soft blankets draped over him. This immediately assures him that his last memories of rescue aren’t just a figment of his imagination. Batman saved him. He’s safe.

_Batman._

The thought of the vigilante himself forces Tim to open his eyes. Instead of the white of a hospital room he’s met with dark gray, almost black. The ceiling is high and there are stalactites stretching down from it.  A ton of medical equipment is organized in the area, but this is definitely no hospital. If Tim had to make a guess, he’d say he’s currently in a cave.

_Like the Batcave._

The realization causes his breath to hitch and his heart rate to increase.

_I’m in the Batcave! Oh my gosh this is so awesome. Wait, why did Batman bring me to the Batcave of all places? He should’ve just called for an ambulance. Maybe if I was in really critical condition, he would drop me off at a clinic himself. That’s what he always does. Oh my gosh, what’s he going to do with me? He wouldn’t just bring me here for no reason. What if-_

“Thank God, you’re finally awake.” Tim’s thoughts are interrupted by Robin. The teen still dons his domino mask, but his field uniform has been replaced by a pair of sweats and a hoodie. “You’ve been out for almost twelve hours. We were starting to get a little worried.”

“Why am I here? I-I should be in a hospital, not… here.” Tim’s hands smooth over his bed sheets and he focuses his attention there rather than the other person in the room.

“Hospital? Psh, Agent A is better at this stuff than probably 90% of those idiots at Gotham Central.” Robin pulls up a chair and plops down. “Besides, I’m going to let you in on a little secret, B has a soft spot for kids. He couldn’t just leave you at a hospital when he didn’t even know your name, let alone someone he could call to pick you up.”

“B-but he’s Batman. How could he not know who I am? He knows everything!”

“Well obviously not considering he didn’t know about you figuring out his identity.” Jason’s smile falls off his face. “Also, we couldn’t run facial recognition on you since you’re in such rough shape." 

“Is it really that bad?” Tim hasn’t had the chance to look at himself this past week, though he has no doubt he looks awful. It’s a small miracle that his neck was relatively untouched, allowing him to talk.

“I don’t mean to scare you, but yeah. You sustained so many blows to your face I’m surprised there isn’t any recognizable brain damage. You don’t feel dizzy or anything do you?”

“No. Just sore.”

“That’s good then. Do you think you’ll be able to answer a couple questions for us?” The words cause the beeping of the heart rate monitor to speed up. “Woah, take it easy kid. We’ll start real easy, okay. And we won’t do anything to you if you don’t feel up to answering. We aren’t like that bas- I mean, we aren’t like Bianchi.”

After a few moments Tim nods. He can do this. He can be strong.

“Great. So first things first, what’s your name? As much as I love calling you kid, it’s starting to lose its charm.” 

“My name’s Timothy, but I like Tim better.” Tim’s eyes are back to focusing on his lap. He feels so small compared to everything around him. It’s a bit overwhelming.

“Tim, huh. You got a last name?”

“Oh, um, it’s Drake. Tim Drake” 

“As in Timothy Jackson Drake, the heir to Jack and Janet Drake and Drake Industries.” Batman’s voice supplies. Tim’s gaze snaps up to meet the vigilante. He didn’t even hear the man’s approach, so there’s no telling how long he’s been standing there. Unlike Robin, he’s still in his full uniform. He probably wouldn’t be able to pull off the cowl without wearing the suit, he thinks absently. It would look absolutely ridiculous.

“Heir? Holy shit!” Robin exclaims. At Batman’s glare, he regains his composure. “But wait, if you’re really that high level, how come we didn’t know you were missing. I would think your face would be plastered all over the news by now.”

“I’m curious about this as well.” Batman crosses his arms over his chest.

And man, if this isn’t embarrassing. This isn’t how he imagined his first meeting with his heroes would go. He was supposed to send them some intel, help crack an important case, earn their respect. Hell, even in the--much more likely and practical--scenario where he met them as Bruce and Jason, his introduction was always charming and insightful.

Now though… now he’s not only lying in bed from injuries, he has to reveal how pathetic his home life is as well. They’ll only be able to look at him with pity. Some poor kid who got himself kidnapped and nobody even cared enough to notice he was missing.

Tim takes a steadying breath. If he can get through this without tearing up, he’ll count it as a win.

“My parents aren’t home a lot and the housekeeper only comes every two weeks. There’s not really anybody at home to notice if I’m not there....” Success. He chances a glance at both Batman and Robin. Robin’s anger is obvious from his set jaw and clenched fist. Batman is doing a better job at hiding his rage, but it’s still there.

The room goes silent for a good minute, the only sound being Tim’s heart rate monitor. Finally, Batman breaks it, changing the direction of the conversation.

“The biggest question we have for you, Tim, is whether or not you know our identities.” Batman approaches the bed, standing over it. If he’s going for intimidation, it’s certainly working. After a second, Tim nods, eyes downcast.

“How?” Robin questions. Tim inhales and starts into his explanation. 

He doesn’t leave anything out. He starts at seeing the Flying Graysons’ final performance, explaining the fascination with both Batman and Dick Grayson that stemmed from it. From there he explains the fateful news broadcast that forced him to make the connection. He walks through how he would follow Batman and Robin on their patrols after that, and how he noticed the switch from Robin #1 to #2. How Nightwing’s appearance in Blüdhaven coinciding with Dick Grayson’s move, all but confirmed his theories.

“And so that’s how I know that Batman is Bruce Wayne, Nightwing is Dick Grayson, and the current Robin is Jason Todd.” Tim concludes. Explaining is a long and arduous process, but now that he’s done, he’s satisfied. He has to admit, it’s nice to finally talk about these experiences with someone.

Jason lets out a low whistle. “That’s some sleuthing kid.” He reaches up and removes his mask. Bruce moves similarly, pulling off his cowl. “Bet you didn’t think you’d ever be bested by an elementary schooler, huh B?”

“I’ll admit, it is all rather surprising.” Bruce agrees. The gravelly quality that he uses as Batman is gone, though it’s still not as airy as it is in TV interviews. _Is this the real Bruce Wayne?_ Tim can’t help but think.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Wayne. I didn’t mean to uncover your identity, but as soon as I got one lead I couldn’t just let it go. No one else knows, I swear!”

“Don’t worry, Tim I believe you.” Bruce gently lays his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “The resolve and dedication you showed with Bianchi prove that.” There’s a sadness in his voice, as if he’s the one to blame for what happened to the teen.

“I’m sorry,” And Tim doesn’t know why he’s apologizing again, but he can’t help but feel guilty that _Batman_ feels guilty about what happened to him.

“Hey, stop apologizing.” This time it’s Jason’s turn to interject. His words are full of sympathy and understanding. “You can’t help what creeps like Bianchi try to do. All you can control is how you react. You did good.” Tim has no response, so he simply nods.

“You should get some rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

“How long am I going to be here?”

“In the Batcave? We can have Alfred move you up to the manor so you aren’t stuck in this dingy cave. I don’t know how anyone could willingly spend more than a few hours down here at a time.” Jason grins at the reaction that gets out of Bruce.

“No, I meant… How long before I have to go home?”

“You should be able to move with crutches after a few days,” Tim can feel himself sag. Just a few more days and he’ll be forced to return to an empty house. Except this time he won’t even have the promise chasing vigilantes across Gotham to aid in alleviating his loneliness. “However, I’m sure Alfred wouldn’t mind cooking for another person for longer than that." 

Wait, is Bruce offering what Tim thinks he is? 

“I-I don’t want to impose…” Tim’s refusal is weak, even to his own ears.

“Nah, there’s no way you could do that here. Alfred loves company! He probably wishes we had more of it if we’re being honest. Besides, B has more money than he knows what to do with. You staying here won’t even put a dent into his pocket change.” Jason teases.

“Maybe after you’re fully healed you could teach Robin how to properly sneak across rooftops. He’s always been a bit loud.” Bruce shoots back, a glint of playfulness in his eyes. Jason sputters and starts to defend himself.

Tim feels himself grin at the scene in front of him. It’s almost exactly how he imagined the two would act behind closed doors, well minus Jason dropping a healthy amount of expletives. That almost makes it better though, makes it more human.

Slowly he begins to slip back into sleep; talking seeming to have tired him out more than he ever thought possible. As he drifts off into dreams, one thought passes through his mind.

_I hope I have a family like them one day._


End file.
